


Step 6: Accidentally Falling in Love with the Victim (wait, what?)

by pinkpop



Series: A Guide to Honeytrapping: The Art of Screwing the Bad Guy [6]
Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Jack being Jack, Tension, jack being a little too excited for murder, this part is long because i talk too much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:21:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29718486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkpop/pseuds/pinkpop
Summary: Reader is on a slippery slope and the Crimson Raiders are beginning to see the cracks in the plan. With Jack acting crazier, Nisha threatening to blow Reader's secret, and the Raiders ordering her to do the unthinkable, Reader faces a choice between the good side and the sexy side.
Relationships: Handsome Jack (Borderlands)/Reader, Handsome Jack (Borderlands)/You
Series: A Guide to Honeytrapping: The Art of Screwing the Bad Guy [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1796794
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	Step 6: Accidentally Falling in Love with the Victim (wait, what?)

“You can’t just attack them like that, Jack, it’s dirty.”  
“Playing dirty is the only way bandits know,” he replies.  
Jack spins in his desk chair merrily, like he’s taking a celebratory lap before the attack has even begun. He’s so cocky that it sets your nerves on edge. Something is bound to go wrong here, for the Raiders or for Jack. Either way, it’s bad news.  
You watch him spinning around in his chair, waiting for the go-ahead from his AI assistant, Ang3l. Today’s master plan involves luring the Vault Hunter in with a fake power core so that Ang3l can lower Sanctuary’s shield in time for a moonshot attack. The whole thing has you feeling sick to your stomach.  
You should warn the others. Tell them what's coming. You have to find a way out of the office right now, before the assault starts, or else people will die.  
“I don’t wanna watch you do this,” you tell him.  
Jack spins his chair around and stops it dead in front of you. “Why not? You don’t feel bad for ‘em, do you?” He says it so scornfully and it makes you feel defensive.  
You swallow thickly. “No, of course not. I just don’t think this is humane. And you’re the hero, right? You’re here to give people mercy. To help them live better...”  
Jack straightens; an indulgent smile spreading covertly across his face. “Damn right I am. But there’s no mercy for bandits.”  
Damnit. He's going through with this whether you like it or not and you can't be here when he does. With a wince, you turn to leave and Jack jumps up from his chair. Your feet carry you quickly, breath catching in your chest as the panic sets in, and you head for the door as fast as you can without raising alarm. You almost make it out of the office too, until Jack grabs your arm and pulls you backwards.  
You spin in a flurry and land against his chest.  
“Come watch with me,” he says, both hands curling around your arms. “It’ll be fun.”  
You want to say no - to shake him off and stand your ground and retreat to your own office so that you can call your friends and warn them. But between Jack’s smile and his vice-like grip and the fact that he’s already pulling you back towards his desk, you find yourself less resistant than you should be.  
It’s not that you want to watch your friends get hurt; it’s that you don’t want to let Jack down.  
He’s so excited. It’s sick, really. He looks like a child pulling you towards a toy store so that he can show you all of the cool robots and remote control cars. Except he’s not a child and the thing that he’s excited about is cold-blooded murder. So I guess that comparison is totally not the same thing at all.  
With Jack holding your hand, you reach his desk, where he plops down into his chair and pulls you down onto his lap.  
“Do I really have to watch people get hurt?” you ask him.  
He looks up at you with somewhat of a twinkle in his eye and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re such a good person,” he says with a smile, smoothing down the hair at the back of your head. “It’s so sexy.”  
The fact that this guy finds morals to be a good quality is highly ironic. It really is a testament to how out of sync this guys moral code is, for him to praise you for being a good person whilst he watches the murder of innocent people for afternoon entertainment. He flits between finding both the bloodshed and the moral compass attractive. But since he can’t settle on either side of the fence, he just bounces between the two almost simultaneously. Always manically changing his mind about what is right and what is wrong.  
Yeesh, you really do get a feel for how whacked this man is up close, huh?  
He turns his eyes to the screen for just long enough to open up the camera feed that displays Sanctuary. Then his eyes are back on you. He fawns over you like a princess and you do all you can to not give yourself away as he watches you. No grimacing. No turning away from it. You have to watch, you have to make him think you're into it.  
The Vault Hunter plugs the ill-fated power core into Sanctuary’s generators and a hollow pit forms in your stomach. Although he's watching you intently, you're not the one he's talking to when he speaks into his echo device.  
“You know, I think it’s time I let you in on my little secret,” he says. You feel for the Vault Hunter. “Ang3l’s working for me.”  
The screen shakes and glitches a little as Sanctuary’s shields break. Glancing at Jack through the corner of your eye, you find him with his eyes now glued to the screen, wide with glee.  
“Jack,” you say, voice meek and raspy. “I don’t want to see-”  
He leans forward in his chair and you grab hold of his thigh to stop yourself from falling. There’s a crazed look all over his face that’s washed out the smooth buttery smirk completely. He’s elated. Like he’s watching his numbers being called out on the lottery or seeing his first ever naked woman.  
“Nicely done, Ang3l,” Jack says, gleefully. “Now let’s kill us some Vault Hunters.”  
All hell breaks loose on the screen and the whole station begins shaking. You turn your head and watch over the back of Jack’s chair as the station's moonshot canon fires shot after shot at Pandora’s surface; each one of them hitting the planet with a distant explosion. The ground rumbles with the cannon fire and your heart leaps into your throat. Head swimming, you struggle against Jack’s grip, but he holds you tightly on his lap.  
“Don’t worry,” he says, fighting against you as you squirm, “it’s just the cannon firing.”  
He thinks you’re scared and he is 100% correct. But not in the way he’s thinking it. You watch the screen on his desk and desperately try to pick faces out of the crowd. People you might know; your friends. Everyone you spot is quickly obliterated by the moonshots, but blessedly, none of them are people that you’ve met before. The fact that you’re thankful for that makes you feel awful, but it’s a weight that you’ll have to carry at another time.  
Jack laughs a maniacal laugh as he watches the chaos, leaning close to his screen and pointing out individual people as they flee. His good time is gracefully cut short, though. A bright purple orb is forming in the centre of town and you’d recognise that kind of power anywhere.  
God bless her.  
The ball of swirling purple light grows bigger and bigger until it encompasses most of the town square. The camera fizzles and crackles as it grows - Lilith at the centre of it, guiding the orb, nurturing it - until the camera dies and cuts to black. Jack jumps up, tipping you off his lap and bracing against his desk. Grunting and muttering, he angrily taps away at his keyboard, searching for another camera to watch through and eventually he finds one.  
The city is airborne.  
Plan B in full swing.  
You watch just as intently as Jack does as Sanctuary takes flight in a ball of purple glory. The moonshots bare down on her still, hitting again and again and again with a sickly _boom, boom, boom_. This is real war, loud and terrifying. Jack’s visibly pissed. He curls his hand into a fist. But he stays calm as he speaks through his echo again.  
“That’s the best you got?” he asks, not a hit of shaking in his voice. “A flying city? What could you chumps possibly have that makes you think you’ve got a chance against me?”  
You take a deep breath, clasp your hands in front of you, and pray.  
“A siren,” comes Roland's voice.  
_“Sup.”_  
And just like that, on Lilith’s command, Sanctuary evaporates into that purple swirl and leaves nothing but empty space behind her.  
Siren powers truly are a wonderful thing.  
You swallow down your sigh of relief as Jack watches the empty space on his screen, dumbfounded for a few moments. For once he's actually speechless, which is almost more awe-inspiring than a disappearing city. The moonshots fire a few more times, hitting the surface of the planet, before the boys in Lunar Control admit defeat and give up on the whole thing.  
Jack tilts his head like he’s just had a curious idea bubble to the surface in the back of his brain. “Huh.” He shakes it off and turns to you with a smile on his face.  
You frown, nostrils flaring, and shake your head. Screw him for putting you through that. Screw him for making you watch.  
Without a word, you storm out of the office.

It’s 2pm Station Time, a few days after the attack, and you’re really starting to regret taking this job. Watching the drama unfold in Jack’s office stripped your nerves right down to the point of numbness and you slept in your own sleeping quarters while he found a way to make it up to you. Every man has a price and it turns out your loyalty can absolutely be bought with a bottle of disgustingly expensive wine and a make-out session in front of a live-action play based on your favourite movie.  
Still, if you’d have known 2 months ago that there was going to be _this_ much stress involved with this job, then you would have just opted for killing Jack and having done with this war altogether.  
Ah, who am I kidding, you like him way too much to do that.  
Your stomach growls as you flip the pages of your file. You haven’t eaten since you left the habitat sector this morning and the vending machine outside your office is calling out to you with the sweetest sounding voice. A fun fact that you learned on your first day here is that Hyperion vending machines have sentient AI. Whoever decided that a vending machine should be able to chastise you for eating your fourth Choco-Rocko bar needs a serious demotion.  
You’re still not used to living on Helios. Every time somebody looks at you, you wonder if they’ve made you as a mole. If they’ve already told Jack about who you’re _really_ working for. God only knows what he’d do to you. Add that to the hunger, the increasing tension between Hyperion and the Raiders, and the fact that Jack has made a royal mess of his assets and organisation, then you have one very stressed worker bee who is in desperate need of a coffee, a Choco-Rocko bar, and a very long and peaceful bubble bath.  
Ignoring the begging and pleading coming from your stomach, you open a new comms line directly to Jack’s office. Your gut twinges at the thought of him. Ugh. You’re still feeling guilty about not warning the others.  
You gently spin from side to side in your office chair while you wait for Jack to answer his echo device. There’s a brief moment of silence and you tap your pen against the tempered glass surface of your desk until a sleepy voice hits your eardrum.  
“What?” Jack asks.  
“Were you sleeping? It’s 2pm!”  
He yawns down the echo device and you can hear him shifting around on the other end. “I get sleepy in the afternoon. It’s a free universe.” There’s a heavy change in his tone. “So, what are you wearing?”  
You’re looking at your terminal screen and flicking through the paper file in front of you at the same time, trying to wrap your head around what you’re seeing. “Why the hell do you have 400 Loaders on standby out near Lynchwood?”  
“I don’t.”  
“Yes, you do, I’m looking at the deployment log right now. They’re in a cave just north of the town.”  
Jack groans on the other end of the line and you return to tapping your pen, anxiously. Something about mysterious Loaders being kept near the town that his disgruntled girlfriend owns is making your spine all goosey.  
“If you didn’t put them there, then who did?” you ask.  
“I don’t know.”  
“Do you think Nisha could have-”  
“Nisha’s none of your concern, okay?” Jack sighs. You can hear him rustling around and getting dressed; the sound of his zipper and then the sound of footsteps.  
“Given she wants to ding my head off the side of a rusty dump truck, I’d say she is pretty much my number 1 concern at the moment.”  
You may or may not be lying with that one. I mean, sure, the Sheriff is about as mean and grizzly as they come in the Borderlands, but the endless hours you’ve poured into searching Hyperion databases have left you a little too frazzled to focus all of your energy on Nisha.  
“Nisha’s not storing those Loaders,” Jack says. You very much doubt his confidence in that statement. “She’d never cross me. We’re tight.”  
You’re midway through your next thought when Jack abruptly hangs up on you. The absolute gall of this man is unending. I mean, who does he think he is, hanging up on you like that?  
The door slides open and Jack strides inside, letting the door seal itself behind him with a clank.  
“Show me these thingies then,” he says, waving his hand in your direction as he pulls up a seat on the opposite side of your desk and plops down into it. “The deployment log things,” he reiterates, helpfully.  
How this man manages to run anything is a mystery. He barely has control over his own life. He looks tired and slightly dishevelled, which you could expect from a man who rolled out of bed 3 minutes ago after binging on uppers all night. His hair hasn’t been properly combed yet and you’re just now realising that he must usually put highlighter on the cheekbones of his mask because his face is duller than normal. Everything about this man is a lie, right down to the hair implants.  
“Are you okay?” you ask. “Only you look like…”  
His eyebrow twitches. “Look like what?”  
“Like shit.”  
Jack snortles and you’d be lying if you didn’t think you were getting fired into space for a moment there. Not many people on this station would get away with insulting him like that, that’s for sure. I feel like there’s a lot that Jack lets you get away with. I guess there’s not much you can’t do when you’ve got a pretty face and a tight pencil skirt.  
He runs his fingers back through his hair and ruffles it. Despite messing it up even further, he somehow manages to make himself look better. How, exactly? Nobody knows. It’s a mystery to science. “I never look bad. It’s intentional scruffiness. It’s an art form.”  
You bite down on a smile. “Well if you’ve stopped shaking dandruff onto my desk, then we can talk about the pressing matter of snaffled Loaders.”  
Jack leans forward and takes the folder from you. “I’m telling you, there’s no snaffled Loaders,” he says with a laidback smile. His easy-breezy-buttcheek-squeezy attitude is nipped in the bud right quick as he skims the open page, taking in the evidence for himself. You hate to say you told him so… “Nah, I don’t get it,” he says, “why would I want Loaders out there? There’s nothing out there but sand and sausage-fingered morons.”  
“I don’t think _you_ sent them there.”  
“You’re still thinkin’ Nisha? Why would she?”  
“Because you’ve been sticking your fingers in fresh apple pies behind her back,” you scoff.  
You reach over the desk and take the file from Jack, offering him a very tempting view down the front of your blouse that he’s more than happy to indulge in. You catch him peeking and he makes no effort to hide his glittery-eyed look when he makes eye contact with you.  
“It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together and come to the conclusion that Nisha is pissed at you,” you explain. “She might talk a big game about _not caring_ and _being queen,_ yadda yadda yadda. But she’s still a person - _I think_ \- and she still has feelings for you. Feelings that were unceremoniously crushed when she caught you having it off with a dirty no-good Pandoran.”  
Jack smiles a slick and buttery-smooth smile. “The way you say _dirty no-good Pandoran_ makes it sound so sexy.”  
“Jack...”  
“ _Dirty_ is my favourite way to describe you, you know that?”  
“Jack.”  
“Hmm?”  
“Nisha’s preparing for something.” You state, smacking his hand away as he reaches for your leg underneath the desk. “Something that’s bad for business. God, you really don’t know much about women considering you spend most of your time fawning over them. _Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned._ Sound familiar?”  
“Was it Gandhi who said that? He didn't seem the type.”  
_Sigh._ This man is about as much trouble as a cat left in a room with a canary for the night. You fight back a laugh to no avail and Jack seems delighted by the giggle he pulls from you. “Nisha’s pissed at me, I get it,” he says with a shrug. “But she’s been pissed at me before. And it’s real likely she’ll be pissed at me again. She’s never done anything like this before, so why now?”  
“Maybe she’s never felt this threatened before,” you offer quietly, gazing down at the pen in your hands. “I mean, you have been sending a lot of strange signals. Maybe I’m reading into it, but…”  
“But what?”  
You look up and find Jack staring at you. Immediately you feel the twinge of regret at bringing the subject up. It’s not like you can just have it out with him in a blaze of insults like a normal partner - he could have you and your entire bloodline reduced to DNA evidence within the hour simply for saying something he didn’t like. And now you’ve accused him of… what exactly? Being in love with you? Playing you? We all know it's not him doing the playing.  
“Well...” Jack prompts.  
“Maybe I’m misreading it,” you repeat, straightening your back, “but it seems like you’re in this a little deeper than just friends-with-benefits. It feels like you’re... feeling some things." _Steady. Take it gently._ "Like I’m a little more than just a fling. Whatever I am to you, it’s getting a little more serious and maybe Nisha realises that I’m a whole lot more of a threat than some random stripper from Promethea.”  
“Promethea? Oh, c’mon, I have way better taste than that,” he says.  
“You most definitely do not.”  
“So you’re saying I’m in love with you?” he asks.  
“I’m saying you’re getting there, yeah.” Your voice does that high-pitched sound that happens when someone is not at all confident in how their words are going to be received. “And I’m saying that Nisha probably knows it.”  
He mulls the thought over for a few moments, his brows giving him the pensive look that you’re sure is usually reserved for business associates and fellow poker players. He’s tapping his finger against his jutted-out chin, teeth gently chewing the inside of his lip.  
“I can talk to her,” you offer. I have no idea why in the hell you would offer to do that, but you just have I guess.  
Jack cocks an eyebrow. “You? Like… alone? Without backup? Why the hell would you wanna do that?”  
My thoughts exactly. Y’know, the man talks some sense sometimes. I really do think he gets a bad rap.  
You begin gathering the scattered papers on your desk into a neat pile, making sure to keep the deployment logs separate. “No offence,” you say, “but there’s never a calm discussion when you’re involved in it. I’ll be better off without you causing trouble on the sidelines.”  
“Handsome Jack is _never_ on the sidelines.”  
“Handsome Jack should stop talking about himself in third person,” you tease.  
“It adds character,” he says quietly.  
Standing up and tucking the logs under your arm, you grab your bag and fast travel pass. Jack walks you to the door and opens it for you, letting you pass through ahead of him. He doesn’t put up much of a fight against your ballsy decision to face down his torture-loving girlfriend by your lonesome. I don’t really blame him, to be honest. If I had a girlfriend like that and a situation like this, I’d be doing anything I could to avoid confrontation with her and her trusty pistol. Jack’s got the right idea letting you do his dirty work for him.  
The two of you journey to the floor above among the general chit chat of the various employees stationed in this stretch of the station. The usual brightly-lit, yellow drenched riff-raff has become almost homely to you now and you wonder what it will be like for these people after the war is over. What it will be like for any of you. You hope they don’t suffer too much when the Raiders make their way up to Helios to burn it. That’d be a bummer.  
A warm hand curled around your wrist stops you ahead of the fast travel station and you turn back to look at Jack. “Hold up a minute,” he says. “You need a gun.”  
“A gun?”  
“Yeah. Those cool metal things that go pew pew and make death happen. I’m sure you’ve seen ‘em around.”  
“Oh, hush.” You scowl. Jack grins. “I don’t have a gun on me,” you add. “They confiscated them at the immigration station. No pew pew on the space station, remember?”  
The cogs in his brain turn ever so quickly for a second before he’s hit over the back of his head by his bright idea. He goes to work at unfastening his wristwatch with one hand, fumbling with the silver clasp. People watching seems like a good enough distraction while you wait; that is until you realise he’s actually having a lot more trouble with that than he should be.  
“Here.” The file gets stuffed under your arm while you help him with the fiddly metal fasten on this inside of his wrist. Once it’s off, he hands it to you. “What’s this for?” you ask, confused.  
“It fires lasers.”  
“It fires- of course it does, why wouldn’t it? Jesus Christ, why is everything about you so insane?” You shake your head as he helps you fasten it around your wrist. It’s too big for you and it shimmies a little when you shake your arm, but it settles your nerves a little to know that you’ll have more than just your dashing wit to defend you against getting your head blown off your shoulders.  
“Flip that little switch thingy there to set it to super-cool-laser mode. Then just raise your arm and clench your fist to fire it. Simple as that.”  
You shake your head and take a step back. “Have you not realised how messed up this is?” you ask. “I mean, you’re teaching me how to shoot your girlfriend of… how many years? That’s pretty whacked.”  
Jack's eyes flick from right to left, processing that little nugget of criticism. I must say, it’s very bold of you to assume that Handsome Jack has enough self-awareness to ever notice how whacked his life is. He’s much more of a _go-with-the-flow-and-if-it-goes-wrong-then-I-guess-that’s-just-how-I-live-my-life-now_ kind of guy. He stands there for a split second, mouth slightly open. “Well, I mean, I don’t _want_ you to kill her… but if you have to.” He shrugs. “Isn’t it what you’re used to on Pandora?”  
Ugh, yikes. This guy is such a prick. It’s a shame, really, that something so attractive could be such a cock. It actually feels like you’ve been done a disservice somehow. The Maker could have given you a man with any mixture of qualities, but they gave you this one instead. An absolute dickhead with a strong jawline and god-tier choking skills. God gamn. I guess every rose has its thorn.  
“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just insult me and my planet to my face,” you smile through gritted teeth.  
“You do that,” Jack grins.  
Turning on the spot, you offer him a lazy wave over your shoulder and enter the code for Lynchwood into the Fast Travel UI. And just like that, you’re gone.

Lynchwood hits you with an oppressive heat and the stench of death long before you’ve been spat out on the other side of the vortex. After having your internal organs ripped out at the speed of light by the pull of the void, you find yourself standing above a dark and rather dingy station platform. The light overhead flickers and the scuffed metal platform trembles under your feet as the train rumbles past beneath you. Everything is noise and cold fast-flowing air for a few moments until the train is gone and you’re left in the quiet again.  
Making your way out of the station and onto the main street does you no favours at all. Well, except for one: you now know where the smell of mangled corpses is coming from. So that's fun. A not-so-fresh body swings in what little breeze the desert has to offer, casting the grimest bit of shade across the floor in front of you. The worst thing is, that shade looks pretty damn inviting with this heat pounding down on you.  
Bandits glare at you from all sides of town, lurking in the shade that the crevices between rock and building provide. They skulk around in the shadows, swinging their weapons over their shoulders and looking at you like you just rocked up on a balloon float wearing naught but your birthday suit. Either that or they’re wondering how big a pot they’d need in order to slow roast you. It doesn’t matter though. If they were going to attack you, they would have long since done it by now. Spotting Nisha standing in the window of a building that hangs over the main street, you quickly realise that they’re waiting for Nisha’s orders to strike. It doesn’t look like she’s planning on giving those orders anytime soon, though. She just stands there in the window as you make your way through town. I guess it makes sense, supposing Nisha feels that if anyone is gonna kill you, she’s earned the right to do it herself.  
By the time you’ve reached her office, having climbed the rickety metal steps in a back alley and skirted around some rather hazardous looking guys wearing deputy badges, you find Nisha in what could only be described as “a bit of a state.”  
She’s obviously been drinking recently - and she’s been drinking quite a lot. Maybe not _I’m-going-to-my-mothers-and-I’m-taking-the-kids_ levels of alcoholism, but definitely enough to draw some sympathy from you. Her desk is lined with a cluster of bottles; maybe 4 or 5 of them, all bone dry save for the one she’s using to top up her glass as you step inside. Congratulations, you're quite the little homewrecker. No offence.  
“Come on in, why don’t you,” she says. She gestures to the seat in front of her and leans back in her own chair. “Take a seat, she adds, flashing an angry attempt at a smile. “I’d love to chat.”  
Taking a deep steadying breath, you pull out the rusty metal chair and take a seat.  
“Good because I think we have a lot to chat about,” you tell her, slapping the file onto the desk with a wee bit more force than was needed. Nisha rolls her eyes. “You know what that is?” you ask her, nodding to the folder.  
“Of course I know what that is,” she drawls. “You’re not the only one with access to my boyfriend’s assets. And I mean that in more ways than one.”  
“Is that what this is about? Your boyfriend cheating on you?”  
“Not entirely.”  
She sips some of her straight ethanol and winces as it tears its way down the back of her throat. She looks very displeased at the experience, yet she still swills it around in the bottom of her glass and takes another mouthful.  
“Not entirely?” you echo.  
Carefully wiping her purple lipstick from the rim of her glass, Nisha leans forward. “Look, sweetie, I’ve said my piece on the situation. If you wanna know why those Loaders are stashed, it’s because I don’t trust you and my darling boyfriend to defend us all against those Raiders. See, Jack’s got the right ideas, but his heart isn’t in it. He talks a big game about winning this war and taking this planet, but as soon as a pretty piece of ass or a chance to make money crosses his path, he’s all over the place. I’m just protecting myself against the inevitable.”  
You scowl. “So you’re telling me you’re _not_ planning on using those Loaders as revenge against me and Jack?”  
“Why would I bother?”  
“Because you see me as the enemy.”  
“Am I wrong? Are you really who you say you are?”  
There’s such a bite to her words that they ring out in the air long after she’s said them. What’s more, there's a purpose to them. Your blood runs cold.  
There’s no way she could know, right? You’ve spent all of your time with Jack in the last 2 months and before that, she barely knew you existed. Surely if anyone were to find out, it’d be Jack, with his surveillance and satellites and soldiers constantly patrolling. But then again, Jack doesn’t live on Pandora like Nisha does. He doesn’t have a rapport with the people…  
You do your absolute best to hide your gulp, but to no avail. Nisha smiles a sinister, sharp grin. She could tear people’s throats out with those teeth, you swear it. _Actually, she very likely has done_.  
“You’re not so slick, kid,” she says. “You might be living up on that glossy space station now, but I know where you came from. Going in and out of Sanctuary all the time.” She places her glass on the desk and stirs it with her pinky finger. “You should really be more careful with who sees you out there. Pandora’s a big planet; anyone could be watching.”  
Your heart hammers in your chest. This is it; this is how you die. You’re gonna have your head blown off by a reptilian cowpoke with a tatty hat and no spurs. God, and I thought you’d die under much sexier circumstances than this. I had such high hopes for you.  
You fondle Jack’s watch on your wrist, hiding it under the desk. You just have to flick the button and clench your fist. Simple as that, he said. But this is actually far away from being simple. Nisha looks at you as you combust from the inside out. She’s deriving sick pleasure from this; it’s written all over her face.  
Nah, the jig ain't up yet. You can still swindle your way out of this. You were _born_ to swindle.  
I wish you luck.  
“I assume you can’t prove any of these bogus claims to Jack,” you say, fighting against the shake in your voice. “You’d need pretty solid evidence to convince him that the new apple of his eye is actually a Crimson Raider. And if you had that sort of proof, we wouldn’t be sat here talking about it, would we? You’d be stood at Jack’s side, waving me off through the airlock window as I’m launched into space. He wouldn't believe you without a damn good reason and so far I've given you nothing of the sort.”  
She flares her nostrils and smiles. “I’ve seen that man through a lot.” She raises her glass to her lips.  
“Just not enough to make him love you.”  
_Smash._  
The glass comes crashing down onto the desk and shatters, sending a spread of glistening chunks scattered in every direction. Nisha stands up, hands braced against the desk. Blood pools around one of her palms, squelching as she shifts. If she feels the searing pain from the gash then she sure as hell doesn’t show it.  
“If you wanna play dirty, sweetheart, then we’ll play dirty,” she says. Her brows pull tightly together. “I can find proof. I can make Jack listen. I saw him at his lowest; watched him change like you wouldn’t believe. He went from mutt to wolf and all the while _I_ was right there with him. _Me._ But by all means, have your fun and games, kiddo. Spread your legs and talk your shit. But he'll see through it at some point and eventually, the old dog’ll bite.”  
She’s breathing heavily; literally panting. There’s so much anger running through her you can almost see it bulging in the veins of her neck. Or maybe that’s the adrenaline protecting her from the brunt of the pain as she continues to bleed onto the chipped wooden desk. It’s probably a good thing she’s got some booze in her to dull the sting of her nerves.  
If there's one thing to be learned from this, it's that Nisha Kadam really doesn't like the idea of Jack not loving her. I guess it's kind of sweet?  
You rise from your seat calmly. You’re not quite sure how you manage it in the face of someone who is so genuinely terrifying. Carefully snaking a hand out in front of you, you take the file from Nisha’s desk and look her cooly in the eye.  
“You can threaten me all you like, Nisha. But I have no clue what in the hell you’re raving about. Look, I’m sorry Jack didn’t have the foresight to ditch you before he started dipping it elsewhere, but that’s just the way it is. Maybe you’re right; maybe he’ll get bored of me. Maybe he’ll come running back to you with his tongue hanging out.” You clench your jaw and lower your tone. Anything you can do to make yourself as clear to her as possible. “But for now,” you say, “he’s mine.”

Back on the station, you bask in the beautiful icey tones of the air conditioning unit. The air is recycled over and over again on Helios, so technically you’re breathing in a year’s worth of breath from, like, a million different people, but you’ll be damned if it doesn’t feel as close to heaven as you’ll ever get.  
You’re slowly rotating in front of the unit, letting the airflow hit all of the sweaty bits of your body, when you get the call from Moxxi.  
“Hey, sugar, can you talk?”  
“Sure can. Shoot.”  
“I just finished processing the recording you sent me of your conversation with Nisha. Your echo device had some trouble picking up some of the quieter dialogue, so I ran it through a few times and isolated what I could. Jack should be able to hear every sordid detail.”  
“You’re a genius, M,” you tell her.  
“She sure is angry at you. I know I wouldn’t wanna piss her off. You wanna talk about it?”  
You watch Pandora through the window, the sun gently setting over its horizon. It looks so pretty from up here; it’s hard to reconcile all of the madness and brutality that goes on down there when you’re looking at it from so far away. You wonder what awful plan Nisha’s coming up with right now. Or what movie the Raiders are watching in HQ. Movie nights with the Raiders are always a good laugh. You might be back with them sooner than you think if Nisha manages to turn Jack. Assuming you’d survive Jack's torture dungeon, that is.  
You heave a gentle sigh. “Nisha knows I’m a mole,” you confess.  
“Ah, I see.” Moxxi takes a long breath inwards. “That’s not good.”  
“No, it’s not. But Jack doesn’t know yet. At least I’m pretty sure he doesn’t. I’m not being tortured to death at the moment, so I could only assume that he’s blissfully unaware. I just… I feel bad about it. About the whole thing, but mostly about how he’ll feel when he finds out.”  
“Don’t bother,” Moxxi says, sternly. You can see how she managed to raise a handful of kids. There’s that distinctive tone a parent uses to warn you just as you’re about to do something you’re not supposed to be doing. Like jumping off the top of the staircase to falling in love with the planet's biggest dictator. “He’s not worth your time or sympathy, sugar. I know he seems like a good idea, with his white smile and his perfectly timed compliments, but that is one very big wolf dressed in sheep’s clothing.”  
“It feels different. He feels different. I expected him to be… I don’t know. But whatever it was, he’s not that.” You groan quietly and turn your back on the view of Pandora. There’s so many thoughts in your head that you feel like some of them have spilled into your chest. There’s a ball of confusion there, right between your ribs, and you take a deep breath to try and relieve the tension it’s causing. “He likes me and it feels so shitty to use that against him. I know that was the plan and I was totally up for it when I thought it was gonna be some meaningless sex with an insufferable rich guy, but now it’s… It’s more than that for him. Hell, I’m pretty sure it’s more than that for me too. And I can’t help but feel like this is too far. It's too much.”  
Moxxi sighs on the other end of the line and you can hear the sympathy in her voice. “Oh, sugar,” she tuts, mildly disappointed. “What did he say to you?”  
“It’s nothing he said, M, it’s just how I feel.”  
“It sounds to me like you’re in need of a stiff drink. Something strong and cold and served with lime. Why don’t you meet us in Sanctuary in half an hour? Make your excuses. Roland wants to see you anyway.”  
You brace yourself for bad news. “What about?”  
“I guess you’ll find out when you get here,” she chirps.  
“Alright,” you sigh. “I need a shower and a change of clothes and then I’ll be there.”  
“Look forward to it, sugar.”  
With an eye roll and a quiet groan, you hang up and turn back to the window, bracing your palm against it. Frustration bubbles up inside you, hot and jittery and uncomfortable. A new mission from Roland is the last thing you need right now. Especially if word has got out about your feelings for Jack. Christ, they’ll have you wearing the letter A in scarlet on your breast pocket as they march you out of town. Or they'll just shoot you.  
Your anger bubbles and you deliver a swift but rather weak punch to the window. A passer-by gasps. Ironic that a Hyperion employee would be so startled by violence. It’s all they know.  
“Numbers came in,” you tell them. “I always was bad with bets.”  
They turn away from you quickly enough and, straightening yourself out and gathering your highly-strung emotions, you head off to your living quarters for a much-needed shower.

Sanctuary is just as peaceful as ever. The wind blows gently between the buildings and people amble around quietly. It’s a stark contrast compared to the manic rush of Helios’ corridors. You find yourself glad of the fresh air; none of that recycled stuff that the station has to offer. It’s fresh and cool and fills your lungs with the slight smell of metal.  
It’s glorious.  
Making your way up the stairs after once again being completely ignored by Tannis, you find yourself greeted by the team as they pile in from the balcony. The only outlier is Mordecai, who sits on a worn-out sofa sipping from a bottle of rakk ale. He looks a little buzzed already and you wouldn’t mind joining him after the day you’ve had. He offers you a seat next to him on the sofa as the others filter in and you gladly take it.  
“You get up here okay?” Lilith asks. “The fast travel got knocked out when we were attacked. The Vault Hunter had to get it up and running again. You know anything about that, by the way?”  
She's a little brazen with her execution, but I suppose it's not like she doesn't have grounds to base it on.  
“About the attack?” You resist shuddering against the chill that runs up your spine. “No, I didn’t know anything until today. Jack had me working hard.”  
The group share a disgusted look.  
You chuckle. “Not like that, you animals. Admin stuff. Very boring.”  
Lilith looks at you, eyes narrowed with something that looks an awful lot like suspicion. “You sure you didn’t know about Jack’s attack? I mean, you’ve been working with him for 2 months. You’d think you’d be aware of something that big.”  
“I just do paperwork, mostly.”  
“Managing his assets, right? Like soldiers and weaponry? Everything he'd use to attack someone.”  
There’s an uncomfortable feeling that washes over the room. The others glance at each other; Mordecai smiles at you somewhat apologetically. Lilith’s always been a bit of a loose cannon.  
At least you have Moxxi in your corner. “She’s doing a good job, Lilith,” she says.  
“Like I said,” - you summon your friendliest smile - “I just do paperwork in this tiny little office he’s given me. I don’t even have a view of Pandora. I had no idea until after the fact and even then I couldn’t get away to check in.” You add an apologetic shrug like you’ve seen in those stupid echoenet apology videos. _I have made a severe and continuous lapse in my judgment_. Ha. “I’m sorry,” you tell her.  
Lilith nods, satisfied for now, and looks to Roland as he takes a seat on one of the bunk beds. They creak and groan under his weight and you find yourself thankful that you’ve been sleeping in Jack’s lush cloud-like bed for most of the last 2 months rather than on these rickety old contraptions. You could lose an arm in one of those things.  
“About the attack,” Roland starts. Oh boy, here we go. “Things are getting serious between him and us. His troops have been mowing down Raiders left and right and with the attack on the city - well, we’ve hit a wall.”  
“A _big_ wall,” Mordecai adds.  
You shift in your seat. “The attack was bad, huh?” You ask the question as if you don’t already know. As if you weren’t there watching it in gruesome detail as it all unfolded. Lying is beginning to come all too easily to you.  
“We need Jack gone. ASAP.” Lilith unfolds her arms and roots around in the pocket of her jeans. “That’s where this comes in.”  
Reaching across, she hands you a vial of clear and slightly cloudy liquid. It looks like it’s been pulled straight off a medical trolley in some off-colour hospital in the badlands. There’s no point asking what it is, you have a pretty strong idea already.  
“Let me guess, you want me to poison him?” You shake the vial and hold it up to the light, watching the bubbles rise to the top of the little glass tube. “Very fitting weapon for a spy, I guess.”  
“If he drinks the whole vial, he’ll hit the ground like a rakk hive,” Moxxi says. “That handsome mug won’t see the light of day again. And we all want that, right, sugar?” she flashes you a knowing look.  
“Right,” you reply. Stuffing the vial into the inside pocket of your jacket, you rise to your feet. “I guess I just have to figure out how to get this into his drink without him noticing. Which is easier said than done with a man who watches everyone like a hawk.”  
Roland nods. “You’ll figure something out.”  
“Even if you have to waterboard him with it,” Lilith adds, rather unhelpfully.  
You snort and head for the door. “If I was that inconspicuous about it, then it wouldn’t be him who’d be kicking the bucket. I’ll see you when I see you.”  
A chorus of goodbyes floods the room behind you and you toss a lazy farewell wave over your shoulder before rounding the corner.

Late that night, you’re once again tangled up in the sheets of Jack’s bed, doused in the glow from Elpis that filters in through the wall of thick glossy windows. He’s laying next to you, legs tied in a knot with yours, chest heaving as he pants. You watch him as he stares up at the ceiling, the biggest dumbest smile on his face, and you wonder how in the hell you’re supposed to destroy all of this. Things are going so well. You feel good when you’re with him - even when you don’t. Living in tension and fear and uncertainty with him is still better than the dull beige white-bread life you had on Pandora. And that stupid little vial in your jacket pocket is gonna take that away.  
He turns to look at you side on. “I could use a drink after that,” he says, rolling over to face you. He rests his head on his elbow and his hair flops in his face. You love it when it does that. “Go get us something expensive from the minibar?”  
He gets a sleepy smile in response and you slide out of bed, leaving the silk covers behind and opting for a chiffon nightgown instead.  
The kitchen is dark and gloomy and full of background noise that seems louder at night. Or maybe it's the headache threatening the burst behind your eyes. Either way, the usual humming and clanking of the station underfoot makes your temples throb while you rummage around in your jacket pocket in the dark, praying you don’t yank the whole coat rack down in your attempt to be stealthy.  
Cold glass brushes against your palm and you close your fingers around it, cursing yourself for agreeing to this. Only a few steps left and this is over with. Surely you can manage that much. You’re not in too deep just yet.  
The vial stares at you from the counter as you pour a glass of old amber whiskey by the light of the overhead cabinet. The stronger the drink is, the less chance there is of him tasting the poison, right? Unless the poison is tasteless. You honestly have no clue. It could taste like cotton candy for all you know but you’re not about to taste it to find out.  
Hands shaking, you raise the vial and flip the sealed lid open.  
God, this is it.  
He has no idea he’s about to die.  
It feels so damn cruel, even after everything he’s done. The people of Overlook, everyone back at Sanctuary, hell the whole damn planet. They’d all be free if you could just drop this liquid into his glass. _You’d_ be free. You could go back home and live your life with your friends. The Raiders could build families, Moxxi could carry on building her enterprise, Roland and Lilith could get back together. The war would be over and things would be normal again.  
So then why can’t you do it?  
A few stray tears slip loose and roll down your cheeks and you wipe them away with your fingers. Your hand shakes more and more, the shuddering intensifying until you decide you just can’t do it.  
It’s no use.  
You pull the vial away from Jack’s glass and clasp a hand to your mouth, silently spilling sobs into your palm. There's a sharp crushing feeling inside you, right where your heart is, and it radiates outwards into the rest of your body. There’s no way you can kill him. You’re too in love with him. Why? Why, why, why?  
After pulling yourself together and answering Jack’s call from the bedroom, you slip the vial back into your jacket pocket and take a few deep breaths. You fix your flyaway hair in the mirror behind the stove, hold a packet of frozen drakefruit chunks to your eyes to combat the puffiness. By the time you enter the bedroom, you look completely normal again. Despite the aching heartbreak that's going on inside.  
“You forget where the mini bar is?” Jack teases as you carry the drinks tray towards him.  
You offer him a smile. “I spilled whiskey all over the counter. Had to mop it up.”  
He takes his drink from the tray and you climb back into bed beside him. He snuggles up closer to you, reaching his arm around your shoulder and pulling you in tight. There’s a soothing quiet now - no more throbbing temples or loud noises coming from below. Just you and Jack and the endless black outside his window. And the whiskey. And the silk bed sheets and the warm skin and the soft spoken words and the happiness. _The happiness._  
There’s no use asking whose side you’re on, now.  
We all know the answer.


End file.
